Hiding
by CelticFaerie2
Summary: CH 2: Julie Wilson comes by the office to have a word with her husband, and meets resistance in the form of Greg House. Abuse, hurt comfort. Please R
1. Chapter 1

He'd seen Wilson through the windows before he sent his staff off to poke and prod the patient one more time. From the shadows of his office, he watched the oncologist eating a bowl of cereal. Most people didn't eat cereal standing up.

Red mug in hand, he went out with intent to quiz Wilson about that curiosity, but the words that fell out when he opened his mouth were entirely different. i "She came into the clinic and yelled at me. Then she left. She came back and yelled at me some more." /i He took a sip of his drink, felt the warmth spread into his gut.

i "Huh. Yelling," /i Wilson stated as if revealing a universal truth, i "That might be a clue." /i 

House knit his brow in thought. i ."I know what the yelling means. It's the coming and going I find interesting. It's not rational." /i Neither was eating cereal standing up, but House didn't say so just yet.

Despite his personal agenda at the moment, he was noting Wilson's physical responses to what he was saying. The way he shifted slightly, the way he didn't, wouldn't, look directly at House. House's curiosity was peaked, he just had to run Stacy out of his system before he could attack Wilson.

i "Anger's not rational," /i Wilson said plainly. There was a catch in his voice.

House walked to the low wall that divided Diagnostics and Oncology, insatiable blue eyes trained on Wilson. Catching every nuance, right down to the twitch of his left hand.

i "Some anger is, /i he countered, eyes flickering down to Wilson's feet and back up. i She could have pulled me aside, screamed at me privately /i like your wife does."

Wilson's eyes closed, and House knew by the sudden intake of breath that he'd hit a nerve. He set his mug on the wall and tapped his cane on the ground. He wasn't surprised Wilson flinched. Shocked, yes. Surprised, no.

"What are you hiding?"

"I'm not…" Wilson started. House leaned in, staring. Wilson set his bowl down on his patio table. "…hiding anything." His left hand went to the back of his neck.

"You're hiding something," House stated. Wilson's arm dropped to his side and he walked a few steps to the edge of the balcony. "Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell, Greg."

"That cinches it," House pointed, blue eyes wide with endless curiosity. "You never use my first name." He jerked his hand toward Wilson, then sat on the wall that separated them. He turned, leading with his right leg by pulling his pants to lift his foot high enough to get it over the wall.

"Uh, well," Wilson watched him scale the wall. It was a clumsy effort, but he managed. "It is your uh, your name."

"And now you're stuttering!"

"Greg…"

He brought his left leg over and eased onto his feet. "See! That's what I'm talking about."

"Nothing's wrong."

"I didn't ask what's wrong. I asked what you're hiding."

Wilson groaned in protest. He sat down, but stayed at the edge of the wrought iron seat. He tipped his head forward and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. But not before House noticed him wince.

"You know I'm going to get it out of you," House said casually as he sat down next to Wilson. He put a hand out to Wilson's arm, and Wilson jerked away from him. Brown eyes flashed, and he looked…vulnerable. House bit back a wave of nausea that came with a realization he didn't want to consider. He took a breath, and kept his eyes centered on Wilson's face. "Why aren't your sleeves rolled up? You always roll your sleeves up when you take the coat off."

"I don't…" He started to protest. His eyes dropped. His left hand twitched. "She started hitting me." He pulled his eyes back up, met House's unwavering, unflinching, unrelenting gaze. His mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything. "About three months ago…"

House blinked. His hand moved, to curl around Wilson's fingers. Wilson looked, stared, at their hands held together, for a long moment, before his eyes flashed up to House's face.

"The first time," brown eyes drifted shut. His lip spasmed. He took a deep breath. "The first time, I just sat there. Let her do it. I thought, if she got her frustrations out, everything would be fine. Or not, not fine, but we could work through everything else." His voice cracked, he opened his eyes, but dropped his head.

House reached up with his other hand to lay his palm against the back of Wilson's head. Wilson instinctively leaned into the touch. He turned and shifted and threw himself forward, onto his knees on the concrete balcony, face in House's lap, nuzzled against his good thigh.

House's hand dropped to Wilson's shoulder. "Come on. Get up. Let's get you inside." He hated that he couldn't do it on his own, couldn't stand and pull Wilson up, subtly guide him into his office.

Arms around Wilson, he guided the oncologist inside, leaving his cane propped against the little iron table. He tugged the door open, ushered Wilson inside and to his couch. He sat, and rubbed his legs. Wilson looked at him, nodded, and eased into his lap.

House leaned his head back, caught a hand in one of his, and used the other to gently stroke his fingers through Wilson's hair. Wilson lay quietly, softly comforted by the feather light caresses and the quiet strength of House's presence.

"I don't want you to do anything, House." His voice was barely a whisper, and House had to lean down to really hear him. "I mean it, Greg. Don't do anything. Don't even talk to her."

"I've never initiated talking to her. Not gonna start now," House murmured. Never mind that his mind was already creating scenarios of confrontation. No need to upset Wilson with that now. "You just rest, James. You're safe with me."

Wilson took a deep breath. House felt him tremble against his legs. His eyes closed, and he sighed, would have rubbed his face if he'd had a hand free, but his hands were where they needed to be. He licked his dry lips, then started humming softly until he was sure Wilson was asleep.

Then, he leant down and kissed Wilson's temple. "You're safe now, James. You're safe."


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson fell in to such a deep sleep, House knew it was the first real sleep he had known for a while. Probably since the beating started. House didn't sleep, instead sat watching the colors of the sunset play out on the pale walls of the office.

He imagined the scene. Wilson, sitting at the kitchen table or the desk in his home office. Eating toast or working on patient files. Julie coming in with some irrational complaint. Had he left the toilet seat up? Maybe he forgot to get stamps at the grocery store. Or he hadn't gotten around to replacing a bulb in her reading lamp. Something, that was small and inconsequential, but she was all over it, taking any excuse she could find to throw insults at him.

He would have apologized, profusely, regardless of fault. He didn't have to do, or not do, whatever she demanded, he always took the blame. She hit him from behind, the first time, hand or fist connecting with his shoulder. He'd turned around, shocked, but silent. Or maybe he said her name. He might have said her name in that soothing way he had, trying to reach her, trying to calm her, pacify.

She'd only hit him again. And again. A rain of fists pummeling him. Had he tried to defend himself at all? If he had to guess, House would say i no /i . Not until she started to wind down, and then he would have tried to comfort her. Unless she walked away from him, left him sitting there alone.

Somewhere along the way, House's hand moved from Wilson's hair to rub gentle circles over his back and shoulder. He stilled his hand, listening to the sounds of someone outside the office door.

One of Wilson's staff needing a word with the boss? One of his own staff, looking for him? If they'd seen his cane outside, or had checked all his usual hide outs, Wilson's office would be the next logical place to seek him out.

He tensed involuntarily at the turning of the knob, blue eyes trained on the door. "…my husband," came the unmistakable voice. Every nerve in him tightened. She flung the door open, Wilson stirred, and House attempted to keep him still by shifting his hand to Wilson's head, trying to comfort him back into sleep.

"Get out, Julie." House hissed through his clenched teeth.

"No, Greg. You get out. I need to speak to my husband alone."

Wilson bolted upright, eyes wide and glazed, disoriented. Eyes trained to Julie, he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Julie…"

Green eyes burned. "You were supposed to come home tonight, you son of a bitch." Julie launched forward, steps hard on the tile floor. "You knew my sister was coming." Her purse flew at him, connecting with his head. His arms went up instinctively, but House was on his feet and shoving Julie back a step before she could hit him again.

"You stay out of this!" She turned her fiery gaze on House.

House was unaffected by it, and retaliated with a death-glare of his own. "How rude of me. Let me step back and watch you beat my best friend with your purse." He put his hand up to catch the purse mid-swing. Fingers dropped to curl around her wrist, a subtle grip that clearly communicated his strength.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Julie spat, eyes held steady on his. As she grunted the last word, her knee connected with his bad thigh, and effectively took him down. He dropped to the ground with wide, shocked eyes and mouth open but unable to make a sound.

"Greg!" Wilson slid off the couch, his body having lost all coordination as he scrambled to get to House. Above him, Julie laughed a laugh that was anything but amused. He looked up at her, started to tell her to go to hell, but her foot shot out and smashed into the side of his head and all that came out was a strangled cry. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and still he reached out for House, hands groping against the fireworks of color fading quickly into darkness of vision.

"You are pathetic, James Wilson," Julie knelt down in his face, took hold of the tie around his neck. He could hear House moving, grunting, struggling, but there was nothing he could do for his friend at the moment, except keep Julie from turning her attention back to him.

He fought with gravity and double vision to get his hands to cooperate and seek a hold on Julie's arms. Tightening his grip only made her tighten hers. She had more resistance, and the tie was cutting off his airway.

House was talking, but Wilson couldn't make out the words.

"Son of a bitch!" Julie hollered, and abruptly let go of the tie, causing Wilson to stumble backward and hit the floor hard. His bruised mind registered the click of Julie's heels, the hiss of a threat that seemed to be directed at House, and then arms around him. Instinct was to fight, and though he tried, he fell against the warm body and buried his face against the softness of a cotton T-shirt.

A shower of gentle, reassuring kisses rained down on him, soothing hands caressed his head, his back, his arms.

"Greg…"

"Shhh." House murmured. "I called security. They'll get her. She's not going to hurt you anymore, James."

"I'm sorry."

"Shhhh. Shhh. I've got you."


End file.
